The Years After
by Kitty Savella
Summary: It wasn't so much the thing that defined his life as it was the years after. HP/DM RL/SB RL/SS LM/NM JP/LP
1. Prologue Part 1

Title: The Years After

Author: Kitty Savella

Rating: T

Pairing: Draco/Harry with a little Remus/Sirius and Remus/Severus (James/Lily and Lucius/Narcissa a given)

Total Story Word Count: 41,336

Summary: It wasn't so much the thing that defined his life as it was the years after. COMPLETE HP/DM RL/SB RL/SS LM/NM JP/LP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I wrote this for my own amusement, not money.

Warnings: Boy/Boy kissing, implied adult activities, AU, mentions of abuse and neglect, Evil!Dumbledore, Good!Dark Side, Character Death (not main character), Character Life (some characters that were dead are alive in this story)

A/N: Brain wants to die. Feed it reviews so that it comes back to life. 3

This story is predominantly about the platonic relationships that develop over the course of the years. It focuses on feelings of familial love, happiness, and belonging. This is at best preslash. There are no explicit encounters between males, or even explicit encounters between males and females. It simply isn't that kind of story. If that isn't your cup of tea, please turn back and find something that is. This story deals with quite a few time jumps, but I believe that they all make quite a bit of sense. If you need a reference for why certain dates were chosen, feel free to check the HP Lexicon. And even though this story is a bit AU, it mostly follows the events as they happened for the first ten years of the story—with minor tweaks, of course.

I have never worked so hard on something in my life. The whole story took days of solid work to finish, and I still don't know if I'm satisfied with it. It was a lot of very hard work and sore hands and a brain that just wouldn't function anymore. But it's done, and it's the longest thing I've ever written, and I hope you like it.

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Part 1 – Prologue 1/2 – Oct. 31, 1981

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Voldemort was sitting in a high-backed chair in the middle of the Malfoy's grandest drawing room. Ranged around him were dozens of figures in black hooded cloaks, white masks hiding their faces. To his left was a tall figure, the hood of this cloak pulled up and the porcelain mask firmly in place. He didn't need to see the man's face to know who he was. The stiffness to his shoulders alone would give him away in a crowd. But here, at Voldemort's side, it was his position more than anything that let all know who he was. His Potions Master and spy, Severus Snape. To his right was another tall figure, his hood and mask also in place. His stature denoted a certain level of breeding and poise, his position denoted his favor in the Dark Lord's court. His name was Lucius Malfoy, and he was the owner of the Manor they were currently in.

They were all silent as they waited for the arrival of the newest member of their ranks. The lowest ranked members were looking around anxiously, shifting their weight from side to side. Those who had been in the Dark Lord's service for the longest knew better to show their anxiety or impatience. The Dark Lord did not appreciate the lack of decorum. In his opinion, only children fidgeted when they had to wait.

It didn't take much longer for the new arrival to scamper into the room. He was a small, squat man with scraggly hair the color of sandy dirt. His shoulders were hunched and he kept his gaze on the ground as he moved through the space. It was clear to see that this man was a total coward. As he stopped in front of the Dark Lord's chair, he fell to the ground and whimpered his platitudes. Voldemort sneered at him, disgust evident in his every feature. If he didn't need the information this rat contained, he'd kill him straight off. The world would be better off without his vile presence.

"Do you have the information that you promised, Wormtail?"

The disgrace of a man whimpered, "Yes, Master. Of course, Master." He didn't say anything more, simply shuddered in his lump on the floor.

Voldemort raised one dark eyebrow and frowned. "Well?" He didn't like to be kept waiting.

Wormtail puled again, curling tighter into himself. "The S-secret is: The Po-potters reside at the l-last house on the l-left in Go-godric's Ho-hollow."

'_Ah_,' he thought, '_of course. Dumbledore would hide him in such a place_.'

The Dark Lord was quite pleased to have the information he needed. And now that the message had been passed, it was time to tie up a loose end.

"You have been such a help, Wormtail. I shall give you what you deserve."

Wormtail looked up slightly and smiled, saying, "Thank you, Master. Thank you."

Voldemort sneered. Gryffindors could be so terribly stupid. He stood so that all could see him clearly. He paused for effect before drawing his wand and pointing it at the sniveling mass on the floor. "Thank you for your assistance, but you will no longer be necessary. _Avada Kedavra_!" Before Wormtail could do anything, a brilliant green light shot out of the end of the Dark Lord's wand and pierced him in the chest. For long moments the words of the curse echoed around the room.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

The night was dark and chill. Wispy clouds flowed across the sky, occasionally dimming the light from the fool moon. No one walked the streets of the little town. It was late enough that all the children had finished their bids for candy hours earlier. Everyone was now safely ensconced in their homes, their fires burning cheerily.

Voldemort had finally received the last piece of the puzzle that had been plaguing him for the last several days. He had called a meeting of his followers to prepare for this night, and the next several as well. They were going to eliminate the threat to their bid for power, and in do doing, cripple the Light side. During that meeting, his most pathetic follower had bared his soul and betrayed his friends. For his pitiful show of loyalty, he received a swift death.

And now, Voldemort felt prepared to put his plan into action. Severus had proven his loyalty by bringing him information that betrayed no one but the wizened ass that called himself the Greatest Wizard of the Age. With this newfound information, he would have his revenge. He would not allow that doddering old fool to best him. He would not allow a single babe to be his downfall.

Using the night for cover, Voldemort had apparated into Godric's Hollow to kill the Potter child. Now he walked slowly from his apparition point up the lane to the Potters' house. No one noticed the most evil Dark Lord since Grindelwald striding through the square. Not a soul peeped through the curtains to see what was happening out in the night. It took him less than ten minutes to make the trek to his destination. Eleven minutes and he had gained the gate. Minute twelve had him standing ready at the door. No need to knock for an errand such as this.

Voldemort raised his wand slowly and pointed it with a steady hand at the door. He didn't particularly enjoy this errand, but it could be left to no one else and must be done. He took a deep breath and summoned more power than was probably strictly necessary. Better to over do it than under do it, however. He loosed the curse without a sound.

As he blasted open the front door, James was there to stand in front of him, ready to lay down his life for his son. He knew exactly what this monster is doing in his home, and he would have none of it. He'd been an Auror for the last few years, and believed that he could do what must be done to protect his family. But an Auror was nothing next to the Dark Lord. Voldemort released a cold, cruel laugh and stunned James Potter with so powerful a spell that a simple _Enervate_ wouldn't suffice. The man fell to the floor in a slump. Only powerful magic would wake him now; he wouldn't be a problem any time soon.

Voldemort paused for a moment to listen to the noises in the house; it was the easiest way to locate his quarry without the use of magic. He heard hushed whispers upstairs and the muted cries of a child. His lips quirked into a sardonic smile. Futile, trying to hide from him. He ascended the stairs slowly, knowing that the anticipation of his arrival would be doing delightful things to Lily Potter's mind.

It took him five minutes to reach the door, behind which his prey waited in fear. Standing there for a long moment, he allowed the feeling of triumph to flow through him. In moments, it would all be over. In moments, he would be the victor and the Light wouldn't have a leg to stand on. With an evil grin replacing his sardonic smile, he blasted open the door to the nursery as he had done to the one downstairs. The occupants of the room where exactly where he had expected them to be. Lily was knelt before the cot, her hands holding her son's pudgy ones through the bars. He was crying and mewling in fear, fat tears standing out in his emerald eyes. She was whispering words of love and comfort to him. He almost felt sorry for the woman; it wouldn't be enough.

"Stand aside", he said drawing himself up, making himself look more imposing. He had promised his most loyal Severus that he would not kill this woman, and unless she did something to provoke his wrath, he would keep his word.

True to form, she refused. As a mother, she could not simply "stand aside" and let someone kill her child. It was unthinkable. Voldemort rolled his eyes and cast the same stunner at her as he did her husband downstairs.

Now that the parents were out of the way, he could focus on his real target. The child of prophecy. The foretold vanquisher of the Dark Lord. He would be granted no mercy. The prophecy said he would know power the Dark Lord knew not, and that neither should live whilst the other survived. Well, he would take care of that.

His wand rose and leveled at the squalling child. A breath, a heartbeat, and then the curse. The poisonous green spell shot out of the tip of the wand and headed straight for the boy. Any second now and it would be over. He waited, wanting to see the light fade in the child's eyes. But the second passed, then the next. The infant's screams only grew louder, instead of cutting off abruptly. Something had gone wrong. The light had stopped before it got to him; it simply winked out.

Voldemort was quite baffled. No, it did not make sense. The prophecy said... One was supposed to kill the other. It should have worked. But, no. The prophecy also said that he'd know power the Dark Lord knew not...maybe this _was_ that power. It bore further study. Something was definitely not right.

Below, the sounds of curious calls and people milling around caught the Dark Lord's attention. His entrance to the home must have drawn more attention than he had imagined it would. Damn his need for ostentation. His time was quite short, but he wanted answers. He needed to know what went wrong, but he would go now and bide his time. He would find out what had stopped his curse from hitting the Potter child. And then he would return. If the child was lucky, he would be allowed to live.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

There were dozens of people crowding the main lane of Godric's Hollow. Women in long dressing gowns with sleep caps on their head and men in heavy robes with worn slippers were standing around in little groups and whispering feverishly to each other. It was clear to any newcomer that something had happened.

It grew more congested as the old fellow walked further up the lane. More women and men were grouped together, and even some children had found their way out of bed and onto the scene. Everyone was so concerned with talking to each other that they ignored all of the strangely dressed people moving closer to the house on the corner.

An old woman was standing just outside the gate, seemingly keeping others from entering the house. She looked a bit stern and kept leveling glares on anyone who dared get too close. The old man who had been walking down the lane stopped in front of her and gave her a grim smile.

"Have you been inside yet, Bathilda?" He asked, looking beyond her at the ruined front door.

She shook her head and moved to allow him to pass if he was so inclined. "No. Once I saw what happened to the front door, and poor James' body on the floor, I figured it'd be better to wait for you to arrive. Didn't want to disrupt something that might help you figure out who did this and why. Been keeping everyone else away."

He nodded in understanding and thanks, glad that he wouldn't have to deal with any interlopers. If what happened was what he thought had happened, he had to spin things just right. There were some amongst the people who would get quite distraught if he didn't give them something else to think about. Which reminded him, "Have _they_ tried to get in, yet?" He felt certain she'd know what he meant.

She shook her head again. "No, haven't seen them. Should I make them wait out here when they arrive?"

He smiled at the thoughtful question. He could always count on Bathilda to do what he needed her to do and understand the delicacies of the situation. "Yes, please do. I don't know what I'll find in there, and it would be best that they waited until I come out to go in."

Bathilda gave him a hard little smile of understanding. "Sure thing, Albus."

The wizard returned the smile and moved past her, going slowly so as to not miss anything that could be important. He took note of the completely destroyed door; it held signed of a powerful blasting curse. On the floor just inside the entryway was the slumped over body of James Potter. His eyes were closed and his chest was gently rising and falling. '_Not dead, then. Pity_,' Albus thought to himself. He had been certain that Tom would have finished them off in his attempt on the child. He had been counting on that so that he didn't have any trouble with the next part of his plan.

Stepping over the body, Albus moved next to the stairs. They led straight up to the second floor, not turns or landings. He made short work of them and entered into the upstairs hallway. On either side were doors. Two on the left, two on the right, and one directly ahead. The last door on the right was not the same as the other four. This door was hanging off its hinges and bore the same tell-tale marks of a blasting curse. That was where he needed to go.

Inside the room was a similar scene to the entryway downstairs. On the floor was a slumped over body, eyes closed and chest gently rising and falling. But the main difference in this room was the very-much awake infant in the cot across the room. He wasn't crying or fussing, simply lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. As Albus got closer, the child's gaze shifted to him.

For all intents and purposes, the child was perfectly fine. He bore no marks of struggle or pain. There were no blemishes on his pale skin. Albus found that quite strange. The prophecy said that the Dark Lord would mark him as his equal. How could that be if there were no marks? He shook his head and left the thought to ponder over later. Right now, he had to move the child to a secure location.

As Albus bent down to pick up the child, a flare of magic lashed out at him. He stumbled backwards in shock. He hadn't been expecting that. Cautiously, he moved closer again. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Slowly, he bent down and attempted to pick up the child. A warning crackle of magic sounded as he got within touching distance. '_So, the boy doesn't like to be touched. We'll just have to work around that._' The old man lifted his wand and cast a non-verbal sleeping spell at the child. If he wasn't awake, he couldn't lash out. It worked, and he was able to pick up the child without problem. A second later, they were gone.


	2. Prologue Part 2

A/N: Here is the second installment of The Years After. Over the next few days, perhaps weeks, I'll be releasing a chapter or two a day until all of them are posted. Please take a moment to let me know if you like this or not.

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Part 2 – Prologue 2/2 – Nov. 1, 1981

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It was late and the street was dark. Convincing Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to take their friends to a secure hospital on the continent had taken much longer than he had thought it would. They were full of tears and questions. But a few carefully chosen answers had them seeing reason. Before they departed they asked one more uncomfortable question, to which Albus gave another well-chosen answer. "Harry?" They had asked. "Dead and removed for your benefit," he had replied. Accepting that as the truth and sparing themselves more pain by not probing deeper, they departed, friends in tow.

And now, in the middle of a Muggle development, Dumbledore was able to do what he felt must be done to insure the defeat of the Dark side. It was a tenuous situation, and if not handled in the right way, they would gain the upper hand and win. He could trust no one to follow his orders in this, trust no one to see how this would play out. So he was alone. He remembered a Muggle phrase that he had always felt rang true: "It's lonely at the top."

Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts crowding it, he turned his attention to the bundle in his arms. Little Harry Potter was still sound asleep, thanks to his spell. His face was perfectly smooth in sleep, his cheeks faintly rosy, his eyelashes fluttering softly. It was a pity this child's destiny was so big. He would probably buckle under it, though hopefully not before he did what must be done. Running a gnarled finger through the babe's fringe he took one last look at the child savior before turning his face away to look at the house in front of him.

It was a normal house; two floors, four bedrooms, nice lawn. It looked the same as every other house on the block, aside from the color of the paint on its siding. If it were any other family living in this house, the Potter boy would grow up in a nice normal family and have a nice normal childhood. But it wasn't any other family living here. Number 4 Privet Drive was inhabited by a very special family of Muggles. They were related to a very famous witch. And they hated magic. For what Albus had planned, it was the perfect place to leave the son of said witch. He would be kept in check, and learn to keep his head down and his nose clean, always obeying the commands given him. And when the time came for him to fulfill his destiny, he would be ready.

Dumbledore left the child on the cold stoop tucked in a fuzzy blue blanket, sound asleep. It would be some time before the Muggles opened the door and found the child there, but it was a necessary precaution. If someone were to see him leaving the child, especially someone in this neighborhood, things might go off track. Better to do it in the dead of night when all would be asleep. The child would be safe enough until morning.

Bending down, he tucked a note into the child's blanket explaining why he was set on _their_ doorstep. He was the son of the witch that they knew but pretended they didn't. He must be guided with a firm hand. No better people to raise him. If they followed the rules and kept him—alive—they would be compensated monthly for this inconvenience. He was to be another member of their family, not someone special that they had to cater to. No one need know the reason he was there. As long as they didn't do something outrageous, there would never be another person like _him_ arriving at their door.

Albus was sure that the Dursleys would follow his instructions. They hated those people who lived such an abnormal life, and would do anything to avoid having to deal with them. And to make sure that he didn't have to worry about someone else coming in and ruining his plans, before he left Dumbledore made the house and the street unplottable. No one should be able to find the house if they hadn't already been there. No magic would be able to point it out, and no one could find it on a map. Normally, he would have posted a guard to make sure that things went along as they were supposed to. However, he didn't trust anyone but himself to do it, and it would be suspicious if he was found in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood, so he accepted that all would have to be well until he came again.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

When Mrs. Dursley opened the door several hours later to put out the milk bottles, she very nearly screamed. On her doorstep was a small wriggling bundle. At first she thought it was someone's cruel idea of a prank—which she quite abhorred as in her mind, pranks were done by the worst sort of people and required far more imagination than she approved of. However, upon closer inspection she discovered it was not, in fact, some defenseless animal someone had bundled up, but an infant.

She took a step back and turned to look into the house. She was the only one up at this time of the morning, and she wasn't sure if this was a situation worth waking her husband early. The child fussed a bit more, his face finally peeking out of the blanket. He looked up at her with brilliant green eyes, his messy black hair poking out as well. Something about the baby struck her as familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The whole situation seemed much stranger than she liked.

Seeing as the woman standing above him wasn't going to give him attention or food, the infant began to caterwaul. His little eyes scrunched closed and his mouth opened wide. He threw his hands from side to side in a perfect temper tantrum. Not wanting the child to cause a scene, she made up her mind. She'd take him in for the moment, but as soon as he was quiet, he was going to an orphanage. The Dursleys already had one child, they did not need another one.

As she picked up the boy, she felt something with an edge poke her arm. She pulled back the edge of the blanket and saw an envelope. Her interest peaked, she pulled it free so that she could read it once they were inside. Kicking the door closed behind her, milk bottles forgotten, she took the child into the lounge.

The envelope was a think sort of paper, something not found in your ordinary stationary shop. It was sealed with wax, an imprint of a coat of arms in the middle. Quite strange. Throwing caution to the wind for a moment—Vernon wasn't there to tell her not to—she slipped the envelope open. Similar creamy parchment was to be found inside, folded neatly once. She pulled it out and eased it opened to read the looping scrawl. Her face crumpled into a scowl as she read the damning words.

"No," she said. "I won't do it."

"Won't do what, Pet?" Her husband asked as he came down the stairs, already dressed for work in a suit and tie.

"Some...freak...left this child on the doorstep. He was squalling and making a scene, I had to bring him in. And then there was this letter. It says we have to keep him, at least if we don't want more of _his_ kind showing up. He says he'll pay us as long as we keep him—alive." Petunia looked very cross.

And if she looked cross, it was nothing next to the murderous expression on her husband's face. "No, I will not have a freak living in this house. No."

"Exactly my thoughts, dear. Let's put him out with the trash. Let the rubbish collectors have him."

"What would the neighbor's think? Leaving an infant in the bin? No, no. We should put him in a box and take him to an orphanage, we should. Leave him there anonymously."

"Oh, but we can't do it during the day, they'll know it was us. And if that get's back to Mrs. Next-Door, I'll never hear the end of it. We'll go tonight, when it's dark."

"But what will we do with the freak until then?" Vernon didn't like the thought of leaving something so disgraceful in their home.

"We'll put him in the cupboard. I suppose I can spare something to feed him with so that he stays quiet."

"But, that food's for Dudley. This little freak doesn't deserve it."

"Is it better to let him scream the house down?"

"Oh, I suppose not. Fine, but as soon as night falls, he's gone."

"Agreed."

If only the Dursleys realized that it wasn't going to be so easy to get rid of the child. Perhaps then, Petunia would have left him on the stoop, damn what the neighbors had to say. But she didn't, and they had put the child in the cupboard, and it couldn't be undone now. They left him there, doing their best to ignore him, and went about their day. And that night, when they tried to get rid of them like they had agreed on, they found they couldn't take him past the doorway to the cupboard. No matter how much they tried, how hard they pulled, the boy refused to budge. So finally, in defeat, they decided that he would stay. But they swore to themselves it wouldn't be a comfortable ride for him, not by a long shot.


	3. Chapter 1

A/N: Here is Part 3, Chapter 1 of The Years After. It's a bit short, as will the next chapter or so be, but they will eventually get longer.

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Part 3- Chapter 1 - Jul. 31, 1991

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The day dawned just the same as any other. The popinjay's were chattering gaily over fences, a few stray cats were meandering about the street, and everyone knew their place. The occupants of number 4 Privet Drive woke the same as they did every morning. Petunia rose first, quickly and quietly dressed and slipped downstairs to make breakfast. She paused on the stairs the same as she did every morning and listened to the house. Quiet, as it should be.

Moving into the kitchen, she eased out the frying pan from its dresser and set it carefully on the stove. It would do no good to make too much noise in the morning. Vernon got quite cross if his sleep was interrupted before it absolutely had to be.

As the eggs were frying, a large blond child ran down the stairs, jumping up and down in the middle as if it were a trampoline. He laughed loudly and continued down the stairs and into the kitchen. Petunia cringed, worried that the loud noise would wake Vernon before he was ready. When he didn't immediately roar his disapproval, she relaxed.

"Ready for breakfast, my Ickle Diddydums?" Petunia crooned to her overweight son. He gave her a happy grin that obviously said, "Food!"

Not long after Dudley raucously descended the stairs, Petunia heard a loud grunt coming from her bedroom. Good, Vernon woke on his own. As soon as he was dressed and cleaned, he also entered the kitchen and sat at the table next to his son. Petunia placed a plate in front of him of eggs and sausages. He took a few bites before grunting again.

"Good nosh, Pet." Petunia smiled and dished up a plate for herself.

There was no mention of another person in the house. There was no food left over for someone else. The day went on as it always did. But in the cupboard under the stairs was a boy, curled up in a tiny ball in the middle of a grubby mattress. His name was Harry, though that would have been news to him. And today was a special day. Harry turned eleven.

Harry lived a very odd, and very hard life. He'd been living in a cupboard for the last ten years. He'd been beaten when he'd had a bout of accidental magic—that he didn't even know _was_ magic—that'd affected Dudley. He'd been starved whenever he'd done something strange and un-Dursley-ish. And he'd been lied to about who he was.

The Dursleys hated magic, and strangeness, and the mop-haired boy who had his mother's eyes. Petunia could see her blasted sister in the child and she hated it. In an attempt to solve that problem, she simply didn't look at him. He was not allowed to ask questions, or to speak if not spoken to. He was not allowed to cook their food, lest he poison it or sneak more food that he was allowed. He was only allowed to be in his cupboard or in the loo, and even when he was in the loo, he had to leave the door open a crack so that someone could make sure he was not doing something strange in there or breaking anything.

Harry had no freedom, not that he knew the meaning of that word. He hadn't ever gone to school, as it would be more trouble than he was worth to provide his history for his enrollment. He didn't go to the doctor, as it wouldn't do to have anyone asking questions. In fact, he didn't go out at all. For as long as Harry could remember, he had never been outside the four walls of the Dursley house. He didn't know what trees looked like, or how the wind felt on his face, or the smell of fresh-mown grass. Whenever Petunia had to leave the house, she made sure to lock the boy in his cupboard-if he'd been especially well behaved, she'd leave a couple of crusts of bread and a small cup of water for him.

And on this day, his eleventh birthday, he didn't know that it was any different than any other day. He never got the letter that was address to 'Mr. H. Potter, Cupboard Under The Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.' He had no idea that anyone outside of the Dursleys knew he was alive. He sat in his cupboard whilst the Dursleys went about their business as usual and tried very hard to pretend he didn't exist.

Harry was very different than other children his age. He had no idea that today—July 31, 1991—was his eleventh birthday. He didn't even know he _was_ eleven. He didn't know his name, or where he had come from. As far as he was concerned, his name was "Boy" and he was just someone that the Dursleys had to put up with, but didn't want. He was told that he wasn't related to them in any way. They didn't like him; in fact, they downright hated him. But they wouldn't get rid of him, either. He didn't know why, and he was not allowed to ask. But sometimes he wondered.

For as long as he could remember, he'd had dreams that seemed like things he should remember instead of something his mind created. He dreamt of blinding green light, softly whispered words, a tall man with dark hair and eyes, and a loud explosion. He didn't know what this all meant, but sometimes it made him wish he could experience some of it for real—if he could hear that woman whisper to him softly; if he could see that tall man again. He pretended, as quietly as he knew how, that the man and woman were his parents and were thinking of him as he was thinking of them. He wished, as fervently as his little heart could, that one or both of them would come for him so that he didn't have to live like this anymore. But he knew, deep down, that no one would ever come for him. No one even knew he existed.


	4. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks so much for those of you who have taken the time to read AND review. I love the feedback and it lets me know that at least one person is glad that I'm writing. I don't really write for the readers, but it's still nice to be appreciated.

Anyways, here is Part 4/22. There's still a lot more to come, so please don't be upset that it's short. I may just post another chapter today (if I get anyone asking for it). There may be a slight delay between parts 6 and 7 (as there is a minor continuity error that I've been having a bit of trouble resolving), but I hope to have it fixed soon. There may also be a slow-down towards the end as I fine-tune the current ending (but that won't come for a while anyways.)

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Part 4 - Chapter 2 - Sept. 1, 1991

* * *

Sitting alone in her quiet office, a severe-looking woman frowned in mild confusion. Harry Potter, the son of Hogwarts alums James and Lily Potter, hadn't answered the Hogwarts letter that had been sent to him several times during the week leading up to his eleventh birthday. It appeared as though he hadn't received a single one of them. They had all returned unopened with extraordinarily confused owls. If the owls couldn't find him to deliver his letters to him, that could only indicate one thing. And that was something she fervently didn't want to believe was true.

Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall knew that Harry James Potter had to be alive—his name was still down in The Book. The Book recorded the birth of each and every magical child in England. And if they should die before gaining Hogwarts age, their names were stricken from The Book in brilliant red ink. However, Harry's name stood as unmarred as ever.

Minerva now knew for certain that Albus had lied about the death of Harry Potter all those many years ago. Actually, she had suspected it for years, and slowly had been secretly trying to find the boy. She had never let on to Albus that she knew one of his secrets; she simply worked tirelessly to find the poor boy who could be anywhere. She truly hoped she was not too late when she finally located the child.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

Severus, a frown permanently etched into his dour face, scanned the Great Hall for the Potter brat. He did not see him. He waited for the sorting. His name was not called. Severus found this all quite strange and knew that something was not right.

His Lord had confided in his most trusted servants that on the night of Oct. 31, 1981, he had failed to kill the Potter child. Severus and Lucius, the most lucid and trusted of his followers, were given the task of find out what went wrong. (Poor Bellatrix had got herself incarcerated after she, her husband and her brother-in-law had tortured the Longbottoms for information about the whereabouts of the Potter's son.) And now, on the first night of term, ten years after the child went missing and was claimed deceased, he still hadn't shown up.

Severus was well aware of the procedures for locating the children who were on the list of admittance to Hogwarts. Because he was next in command after Minerva, there were certain procedures he had been made aware of, should anything happen to her. And because of what he knew, he was certain that the Potter boy _should_ have shown up for the first day of term.

Looking over the Head Table, he noticed Minerva's facial expression. A very faint frown marred her mouth, making her look more severe than usual. He could tell instantly that she knew something, something about why Potter wasn't present at the Sorting. And whatever was the cause, she didn't like it. Looking further down the table, he noted the headmaster. Dumbledore, appearing as opposite Minerva as possible, looked as pleased as punch. He wasn't surprised, then, that Harry Potter hadn't showed up for classes. Curious.


	5. Chapter 3

A/N: I know it's been a little while since I've updated this story. I'm a little disappointed that so many people favorite/alert the story and so few review. While I didn't write this story for public acclaim, as a writer, it is nice to hear what people think. It helps us get better. I would very much like to know what is good and what isn't so good in this story so that I can make things better going forward. I'm not going to stop updating just because I don't get reviews, however it might take me longer to update if I'm not getting any feedback.

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Part 5 – Chapter 3 - Oct. 31, 1991

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Voldemort was quite unhappy. He had spent the last ten years searching for the child that had thwarted him. And on the day that he should have finally, _finally_, made an appearance, he was a no-show. Harry Potter hadn't showed up for any of his classes this term. There had been a brief hope that the child was simply late, and would arrive after some weeks. But that hope was as far-fetched as it sounded.

Severus had been certain, after speaking with that McGonagall woman, that he hadn't even received his letter of admission. Severus was also certain that that bumbling old headmaster had something to do with it.

It was time to get some more information, and if the old fool wasn't going to talk, they'd go about it the hard way. Tonight, one of his pawns—the sniveling Professor Quirrell—was to create a diversion in the castle so that Voldemort could infiltrate Dumbledore's office and locate any information on the boy's whereabouts. Dumbledore had to have something stashed away in his office that would give them some clue as to where to concentrate their search, and tonight was as good as any to start the search.

He managed to slip into the castle through the Chamber quite easily. Thanks to the diversion, he made it silently up to the headmaster's office without a fuss. A simple spell kept the portraits from noticing anything was amiss. Looking around briefly, his eyes zeroed in on the large desk in the center of the room. _Bingo._ He began rifling through papers piled messily there until he came to a ledger that was deeply buried. It showed all money transfers from the Hogwarts account. It took a few minutes of intense search to find what he had hoped to find. A sum of 1000 Galleons was being transferred to a _P. Dursley_ on the first of every month. Looking back through the register, he could tell that this had been going on for the past ten years.

He flipped the book back to the current month and stared at the entry for another long moment. As he fingered the page, he noticed something odd. Stuck in between the next two pages was a missive written in dainty script on Muggle lined paper. It read: "5000 sterling is no longer enough. Things get more expensive every day and people are starting to ask questions. Send more or the deal's off." It was signed "P. Dursley."

Hearing a noise outside the room, Voldemort quickly put everything back the way he had found it. He looked around quickly to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. A quick disillusionment charm protected him from view, and another flick of his wand dispelled the charm on the portraits. Luckily for him the window was open, which allowed him to slip out. Using a controlled levitation and featherlight charm, he slowly made it to the ground. He got what he had come for. Now, all that was left was to find this P. Dursley. And, judging from the clues he gained tonight, this person was in the Muggle world.


	6. Chapter 4

A/N: Here is Part 6 of The Years After. The next part won't be coming right away, as it needs a little tweaking. I don't know when it'll be finished or updated, but once I have it completed, it will be posted.

Thanks to all who have reviewed so far. I really appreciate the time and attention you have put in to this story. (P.S. I know it's short...I'm sorry. I just can't seem to add length to these earlier chapters. The chapters about Christmas should be longer, though.)

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Part 6 – Chapter 4 - Dec. 23, 1991

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It was proving much more difficult that anyone had thought to locate P. Dursley. There were too many Dursleys to count, running around the dratted country. Attempting to use spells to locate P. Dursley on a map didn't work. Gringotts was no help, either. They kept all of their client's affairs private and confidential. The goblins didn't care that the money transfer was part of a kidnapping. They weren't going to share who P. Dursley was, or even acknowledge that there was such a person or that such a transfer was being made.

Lucius was doing his best with his Ministry connections to try and find out if this person was truly a Muggle, or if it was a Muggle-born witch or wizard. So far, no one in the magical community was named Dursley at all. It wasn't entirely surprising, however, as too many Muggle-borns dropped off the face of the Earth as soon as they had finished schooling, and most of their families wanted to nothing to do with magic.

Severus got the idea—born of frustration as much as anything else—to look into people that Dumbledore might know who would be willing to take in a child and hide him in the Muggle world. Those people would be quite capable of hiding from the Ministry and lying low. The number of Dumbledore's contacts who had any tact or skill for subterfuge was limited. It helped that Dumbledore trusted him implicitly and let leak sensitive information quite often. Running through his mental list, he hit upon his first choice. Arabella Figg, a little-known member of the Order of the Phoenix, was a squib. Since she was not well-known, she might be a good choice to hide something the old codger didn't want anyone to find. She was worth a shot, at least. He contacted her quickly and carefully, but she knew nothing of value. He forbore revealing to much, lest she inform Dumbledore of the conversation.

As far as he could fathom, no one else in the Order would be a very likely choice. Most of them were fairly high-profile witches and wizards. The addition of a child to their families would be noted in most social circles. Also, many of them were very firmly _good_ and would not agree to the kidnapping of a child, even if Dumbledore had swore it was for "The Greater Good." He knew that it had to be someone out of the box or Minerva would have found the boy already.

Thinking very hard, he sifted through thoughts and memories, trying to see something, some sort of rhyme or reason to the placing of Potter. If he didn't want someone to find something, he'd put it in the last place they'd assume he would. Someplace that seemed obvious-so obvious that most would discard it as too obvious. They would never bother to check. So he made a list of the people that were too obvious: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Frank and Alice Longbottom...and Petunia Evans. He only added on that bint because she was technically Lily's sister and Harry's only other family. It would be a no-brainer that Dumbledore would put the boy with family, so most people would assume that, because it was so simple, that he wouldn't do it.

Going by process of elimination, he could take away Frank and Alice Longbottom—as they had been tortured by the Dark Lord's followers already—and Sirius Black wouldn't have prevented his godson from going to Hogwarts no matter how dangerous Albus had claimed it. Not to mention the fact that he would be telling everyone who would listen that he had custody of Harry and that the child wasn't dead after all. No, the mutt and the wolf had been told that Harry had died, just like everyone else. It was entirely possible that Lupin could keep his mouth shut about the truth—having had long years of practice hiding his lycanthropy from the world for his own safety—but not the mutt. So, two choices—Remus Lupin and Petunia Evans.

He went to his Lord and presented his thoughts.

"Evans...she's the older sister of Lily Potter, yes? It's been ten years since Lily lost her son...you wouldn't expect her name to still be Evans, would you?" Voldemort asked, as if Severus should have known better.

Honestly, the thought hadn't really occurred to him. His thoughts had been on the werewolf and what he might be able to do with his mouth. But, he took a moment now to think it through. It took much longer than it should have for it to click—P. _Dursley_. Not P. _Evans_.

They had a better jumping off point now.


End file.
